


The First Law of Motion

by blancafic



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Hijacking, Post-Season/Series 05 Finale, Season/Series 06 Speculation, Space Pirates, canon MCD referenced, post 5x22
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-06 14:15:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16389266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blancafic/pseuds/blancafic
Summary: It’s been months since the team found Fitz in space and Jemma has yet to tell him about everything he missed. But when they are hijacked by space pirates something has to give. It’s not the most ideal situation for the truth to come out, but when is it ever?





	1. Objects in Motion

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks, as always, to my fabulous beta LibbyWeasley, who patiently listened to me moan about this premise for weeks and always had helpful advice to offer.

There are a few things Fitz knows for certain.

He knows that he died.

He knows that Phil Coulson is dying.

He knows without a shred of doubt that he loves Jemma Simmons and that, to his constant amazement, she loves him back.

But there are things she isn’t telling him. Secrets no one shares. Whatever happened in those months he missed, whatever they went through together, the scars are still fresh. And it’s like they made a pact to never discuss any of it with him. Daisy flinches whenever he gets near her. Mack is constantly over-apologizing for little things, like putting too much milk in his tea. Also, Mack is bringing him tea. And then there’s Yo-Yo, who somehow lost both of her arms and now has mechanical replacements (poorly designed ones at that, if you ask him). He made sure they were properly calibrated so they won’t interfere with her powers, but he doesn’t have the nerve to ask for the story behind them.

It’s frustrating and terrifying and he just wants everything to go back to the way it was. Before the Framework, before Hive, before Hydra, before Ward. He's even taken to wearing cardigans again, grown out his hair, and shaved off his beard. He doesn’t feel like trying to be an action hero anymore. His only ambition now is to be the engineering half of the greatest scientific team S.H.I.E.L.D. has ever seen. But he can’t simply change his look and turn back the clock. And even if he could travel back in time, as his predecessor apparently had, would he risk losing everything he has now with Jemma? No, the only way back is forward.

He has some ideas about that. He doesn’t miss the way she sometimes absently rubs the fourth finger of her left hand. She doesn’t even seem to be aware she’s doing it. She caught him watching her once, and immediately dropped her hands and turned away from him, hiding her face behind a curtain of hair. Does she think he doesn’t know himself well enough to know the first thing he would have done when he found her in the future? The question is almost always on the tip of his tongue these days. He wants to ask her so desperately he’s afraid he might blurt it out at any moment.

Like, one day she'll come out of the lav and say, "We're out of toilet paper."

And he'll say, "Will you marry me?"

Yeah, that would be a great story to tell the grandkids.

Oh, that’s one other thing he knows.

He and Jemma have a grandson who traveled back in time from the future. They told him Deke was instrumental in finding Enoch's ship and helping to revive him from the cryo chamber, but he didn’t stick around much after that. Jemma, who seems bizarrely at ease with the idea of having a fully grown grandson, says it’s typical of him to blow in and out of their lives without warning. Fitz has to take her word for it. The couple of times Deke visited them at the Lighthouse he kept himself at a distance, holding his tongue. Just like everyone else.

As he has all his life, Fitz finds sanctuary in the lab. Working alongside Jemma calms his mind, even with the weight of the things she isn’t saying. From the moment he heard of Coulson’s condition he devoted all of his spare time and energy, and by extension Jemma’s as well, to finding a cure. No one has tried to dissuade him or tell him he’s wasting his time. That’s the upside of coming back from the dead, people give you a life's worth of latitude. No one questions your highly questionable actions. He learned that lesson from Coulson himself.

The lab on the Zephyr has become their base of operations. It wasn't something they discussed or decided. Before they found him in space, Jemma had already established it as her primary workspace, despite the Lighthouse having more room and resources. He doesn’t need to ask why. Now, with all their research and equipment on board, they rarely work anywhere else. When the team takes the ship out on missions, their lab goes too, whether they’re essential to the operation or not. Fitz will never admit it to anyone, least of all Jemma, but he enjoys being back in a mobile lab. It’s nice to have a little corner that’s all their own again. Jemma seems to prefer it too. Her smile doesn’t come as easy as it used to, but the lab is where he sees it most often.

He was treated to one of those rare smiles on the day she finally cracked it. She discovered that the GH-325 was still in Coulson's blood, it was merely inert. They just had to find the right combination of components to reactivate it. Once that piece of the puzzle was in place, the others started coming together to create a complete picture. Fitz's contribution was modifying the particle infusion chamber to deliver the formula Jemma was creating directly to Coulson's cells. The treatment they're developing is quick, effective, and (mostly) painless. In theory. There’s still a lot of testing and experimentation ahead before they can call it a success.

"Fitz!" Jemma's cry from the other side of the lab startles him out of his thoughts. He’s at her side in an instant. "Look at this!"

She invites him to see for himself through the electron microscope, but he doesn’t understand what he’s supposed to be seeing. He lifts his eyes again and shrugs. "Looks normal to me."

"Exactly," she said triumphantly. "This is the tissue sample we put through the infusion chamber. It's completely healthy now."

He’s afraid to say it out loud, to voice a hope that’s too good to be true. "Does this mean . . . ?"

Her smile says it all, but she clarifies anyway. “The treatment works."

"You did it," he says quietly, letting it sink in. The enthusiasm radiates off of her. She’s practically glowed with it. He says it again, louder, with conviction. "You did it!"

Laughing, he swoops her up, sending her ponytail flying in a wide circle. She really is astonishingly brilliant, his Jemma. She laughs with him, and it’s such a lovely, precious sound he silently vows to spend the rest of his life making it happen as much as possible.

" _We_ did it," she says, her eyes full of love. Still in his arms, she leans her head down until their lips meet in a kiss that’s meant to be chaste, but he can’t help himself. Not when her honey-brown eyes are bright and her face is shining with hope and the joy of scientific discovery. He brings her back to the ground carefully, without taking his lips from hers. She tastes like sunshine.

She pulls away before he has a chance to deepen it further and shifts right back into scientist mode. He doesn’t really mind, because now he gets to bask in her brilliance as well as her beauty. She bites her thumb, as she always does when she’s working something out. "May reported in with no change this morning, so there's still time. But we'll have to work fast, and it's going to take a lot of power. If we can convince Mack to land the Zephyr and resupply quickly, we can be in Tahiti in . . . " She trails off, calculating time and distance and making a mental list of all the things they’ll need.

They are about as far from Tahiti as the Zephyr can get. Mack and his team are returning from brokering a diplomatic meeting between an interplanetary coalition and the U.S. government. Because they do that kind of thing now, apparently. At least they’re heading in the right direction, towards the giant, floating blue ball they call home. He hopes they make back it in time. But Coulson has a way of defying the odds. He's already lived well past his supposed expiration date. Twice, in fact.

Just as he’s about to supply the answer to Jemma's calculations (2 days, 9 hours, and twenty minutes, give or take), the screen on their workstation lights up with an incoming notification. Mack's face comes on the screen. Behind him they can see the bridge and a commotion of agents scrambling back and forth.

"Guys, we've got a situation," Mack announces in his Director MacKenzie voice. Fitz isn’t used to it yet. He might never be.

"What's going on?" Fitz asks.

"We've picked up a distress call from a ship on the other side of the moon. Seems they're dead in space and need an evac."

"There's no one else who can help?" Jemma asks. Fitz snaps his head toward her. It’s not like Jemma to turn down someone in need. But he understands. She’s been through too much, lost too much, and Coulson’s life is on the line. Her heart has grown protective calluses over the most tender spots.

"No. We're the only vessel in range. And it's Coalition. We can't refuse. We just signed a treaty to that effect."

One look between them confirms that they’re having the same thought. It’s too early to share their progress on the cure. They needed to test it further before giving anyone false hope. 

"How long will that take?" Jemma asks.

"Why? You got somewhere to be?" Fitz can hear the reprimand in Mack’s tone. He doesn’t understand why Jemma is resisting, but then he doesn’t know about the cure.

"Possibly," Fitz answers, making a see-saw motion with his hand.

"These people need our help. We’re not going to turn our backs on them. That's not what S.H.I.E.L.D. does."

"Okay, look.” Fitz looks over at Jemma for permission to share their information before he continues. She gives him a nod. “We weren't going to say anything yet, but we’ve just completed our first successful trial. We may have found something that could save Coulson."

"You found a cure?" Mack’s face betrays his hopefulness for a moment, before the impassive director’s mask returns.

"The data’s not conclusive yet," Jemma cautions. "But we're close. We can’t afford to waste any time."

"Well I know for sure these people won't make it if we turn around and leave them stranded. It shouldn't take us more than a few hours out of our way. You two just focus on making sure that cure is ready and we'll get you there as fast as we can."

Fitz thinks, not for the first time, that he’s glad he’s not the one who has to make these kinds of decisions. "Fine. We'll keep working on our end. Let us know if there are any more developments."

“Copy that.”

The screen goes black and they return to their work, preparing another tissue sample for the chamber. If they can duplicate the results they’ll be that much closer to confirming that the treatment works. Then they’ll have to monitor the samples for potential side effects and cell stability over time. He knows she’d have preferred to have some live specimens to experiment on, but rats are hard to come by in space.

The second test is also a success, and the first sample has remained healthy so far. Fitz starts to let himself believe that they really could do it. They could save Coulson. He hasn’t seen the former director since the diner. Even then, Coulson had known. He knew he was dying and didn’t say anything to anyone. But Fitz knows better than to dwell on the past, both the parts he lived through and the parts he didn’t. And if he thinks too hard he'll eventually get around to blaming himself. He knows how those thoughts can consume him if he lets them in.

As Fitz is helping Jemma prepare another vial of the serum, a strong jolt sent them both flying into the bulkhead. They grab each other by the shoulders, visually scanning for injuries. She looks as stunned as he feels, but otherwise they’re both unharmed. They brace themselves against the work table just in time to stay upright as the ship makes another swift lurch in the opposite direction. The room continues to shake, causing the equipment to rattle and nearly shudder right off the table. It’s a miracle nothing has broken. Then, just as abruptly as it began, the shaking stops and there’s a loud noise from somewhere above them, like the scraping of metal on metal.

"What's happening?" Fitz asks, though he doesn’t expect Jemma to have the answer.

Right on cue, Mack's voice comes over the ship-wide intercom system. "Attention all S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel. An unknown hostile vessel has engaged Zephyr One. Stand your ground. Repeat, stand your ground. We're not going to let them take this ship without a fight."

Though he sounds commanding, Fitz knows his friend well enough to hear the undertones of exasperation in his voice. He can almost hear him muttering about the "damn aliens" as soon as he turned off the comm.

Jemma grabs his arm. "Fitz. The cure. If anything happens to the lab we'll have to start from scratch."

They aren’t sure how much time Coulson has, but it’s taken them weeks just to get to this point and they can’t afford a delay. Neither of them wants to contemplate starting from square one.

Fitz opens the video link to the bridge and Mack immediately appears on the screen, looking significantly more haggard than before. In the background he can see Daisy and Yo-Yo ordering agents to take up arms. "Turbo. You guys okay down there?"

"For now. What's going on?"

"Damn aliens," Mack says, and Fitz has to hold back a smile. "Ship came out of nowhere. I think they mean to board us. They haven't breached the hull yet, but I don't know how long we can hold them off."

"What about the distress call?"

"Looks like it was a trap. And if you're about to say 'I told you so,' just . . . don't."

"I never said it was a trap."

"You can't let them get anywhere near the lab," Jemma chimes in. "We’ve made significant progress, but we’re going to need every bit of data and equipment we have to complete the treatment."

"That’s great news. Bad timing, but great news."

Having overheard the conversation, Daisy practically elbows Mack out of the way. "Did I hear that right? Did you just say you found a cure for Coulson?"

The treatment is promising, but it’s far from ready. And in Fitz’s experience, things like this rarely go as planned. Even cautious optimism seems dangerous. "We might not have anything if these hostiles make it to the lab," he says.

"We'll do our best to keep them at bay," promises Mack. "In the meantime, maybe you could contact your buddy Enoch and find out what you can about these guys? We captured an image of the ship. See if he can identify it so we know what we’re dealing with."

The screen changes to a picture of an oblong vessel about the size of a Quinjet. It’s unlike anything Fitz has ever seen before.

“On it.”

He dismisses the feed and enters Enoch's secure frequency. Soon, the Chronicom's face comes into view. "Ah, Leopold Fitz. How nice to see you. Is this a social call or do you need my assistance?"

"Enoch, the Zephyr's under attack by an alien ship. Do you think you could identify its origin? I'm sending you a picture now." He types in the sequence that will send the image directly to Enoch's system.

"So, _not_ a social call then, I see," Enoch sounds almost disappointed. "I cannot intervene, as you know, but I suppose I could provide the information you seek and you can do with it as you will."

Fitz still doesn’t fully understand the code Enoch lives by, which seems to shift and change at whim, but he’s too grateful for the help to point out any inconsistencies.

With an awkward tilt of his head, Enoch studies the ship on his screen and comes to a conclusion almost instantly. "Is your ship equipped with an escape pod?"

"Yes,” Jemma answers. “But we're right in the middle of a very important project in the lab. We can't abandon it."

There’s a pause as he factors in this new data point. "Then my advice would be to hide anything valuable, including yourselves, until they are gone."

"What? Why? Who are these guys?"

"Based on the insignia on the vessel's empennage, I would say you are about be boarded by Ravagers.”

If he didn't know better, he'd say the Chronicom looks worried.

"Ravagers?" Fitz asks, looking to Jemma as if she might have further information. She doesn’t. "What are they? Like a gang of space pirates or something?"

"That would be a fitting description, yes," Enoch replies. "They are an intergalactic crime syndicate made up of outlaws and scoundrels, but they generally do not kill for sport."

"Generally?" Fitz challenges, at the same time Jemma says, "That's not very reassuring."

"Their primary motivation is profit, so they will most likely take your ship by force and leave with whatever they can carry. If you do not resist them, they will most likely leave you unharmed."

"We can't afford to lose any of our work," Jemma said. "I don't suppose they'd listen to reason?"

"Unlikely. If you are not willing to abandon ship, your best option would be to outsmart them. They are not known for their intelligence. The vessel is small and does not appear to be a flagship, so you should be dealing with a low-level crew. Three or four at most."

Fitz sighs and runs a hand down his face. "Right. Okay. Thanks, Enoch."

"Good luck, Agent Fitz. I am at your disposal should you wish to contact me again. And may I remind you that you need not be in mortal danger to do so."

Fitz shakes his head. Enoch is beginning to sound uncannily like his mother.

There are gunshots and the sound of fighting on the deck above, and then a series of dull thumps as the comm link goes dead.

"Enoch!" Fitz calls, but he’s already gone. Jemma tries the door to the lab, but it’s locked down. They’re trapped.

"I think they've reached the bridge," Jemma says, though the fighting seems to have stopped. Her eyes are serious, going back and forth between him and the lab equipment. He can see the wheels in her head turning, trying to figure out what she can salvage. The Zephyr is a sizeable ship, but it won’t be long before they’re discovered.

"I don't think force will work. Like Enoch said, our best bet is to outsmart them."

"Fitz." Jemma bites her lip. She looks like she wants to say something but isn’t sure exactly how. "I know we haven't had a chance to talk about . . . what happened in the future."

"Jemma. Now’s not really the time—"

She cuts him off, placing a gentle arm on his shoulder. "No, this is relevant. You know that in the original timeline the Earth was destroyed, yeah?”

Fitz nods. “Yeah. Enoch called it an extinction level event.”

“Well, what was left of humanity found shelter in the Lighthouse, but at some point it was taken over by the Kree and left in the control of a sadistic ruler named Kasius. Not long after we arrived I was captured and forced to serve him.”

Fitz has to swallow the bile that rises up in his throat as he listens to her story. No wonder they haven’t told him any of this before. He is powerless to prevent things that have already happened, even if they happened in the future, and it makes him want to scream. He forces his lungs to take slow, deep breaths in and out, reminding himself that Jemma alright. She's here and she's safe. Well, relatively safe.

She must know he’s struggling with what he hears, but she presses on anyway, spilling out the words like she’s relieved to be rid of them. She tells him about Daisy being the supposed Destroyer of Worlds and the auction to sell her off to the highest bidder.

"You arrived right before the auction,” she tells him. “Enoch created a new identity for you so you could join the bidding party, posing as a wealthy, ruthless marauder. You were quite convincing."

He grinds his teeth. It’s one thing knowing that there are things he doesn’t know, but hearing Jemma talk about the things his other self did with such admiration in her voice is unsettling, to say the least. "Is there a point to this story?"

"I was thinking, since you did it before, maybe you could do that again? Scare them off or intimidate them or something?" She squints, unsure of how well her suggestion will go over with him.

It does not go over well.

Fitz turns away from her, unable to face the hopeful look in her eyes. He feels sick to his stomach. "That wasn't me," he growls.

"Of course it was," Jemma insists. He remains unconvinced. "You just have to focus . . . channel . . . that side of you. You did it before. You saved me. And Daisy. And May, too. It was all quite heroic."

He remembers telling Hunter how much he hated the darkness inside of him. How bad must things have been for him to choose to embrace it? And what had it cost him to let in the dark voice he’s been shutting out for months? "No. I didn't do any of those things." The words come out harsher than he means them to, but Jemma doesn’t flinch.

She moves her hand to his chest. "You would have. If we hadn't changed the timeline, if the planet had been destroyed and the loop repeated itself, you would have woken up in the future and done it all over again."

"But I didn't," he says again, stepping out of her reach. He doesn't know how to get through to her, to make her understand. "It all seems possible to you because you remember it, but that _wasn't me_. I don't want to be him." 

He’s not sure if the _him_ he’s referring to is the version who woke up in the future or the one from the Framework. Either way, the statement applies. 

She’s about to protest, but he cuts her off with a shaky finger to his lips. There are footsteps at the door and the sound of someone forcing it open.

“Where are the ICERs?” Jemma whispers.

“Still in the landing bay. But don’t worry, I have another idea. Just follow my lead."


	2. Travel in a Straight Line at Constant Speed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's FitzSimmons vs. space pirates! But also vs. themselves. Because of course it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, the lovely LibbyWeasly was a massive help in the writing of this. She's everything you could ever ask for in a beta and a human being.

Jemma has always been willing follow Fitz, since the very beginning, she just wishes she knew where he was going this time.

"You know I'm not good at improvisation," she protests.

"Nonsense. You're Jemma Simmons. You're good at everything." He gives her an encouraging smile and it seems the dark mood he was in a moment ago has passed.

"Especially preparation," she reminds him.

Since coming out of the cryo-freeze he's been having these mood swings a lot, fluctuating between periods of quiet brooding, tender devotion, and manic productivity as they search for the cure. As much as she tries not to compare this Fitz to the one from the future, the differences are sometimes stark and always take her by surprise. The two versions were separated by only a few weeks, but so much happened in that short amount of time. It was like losing a document before saving all the changes after a major revision. She knows she should probably keep that analogy to herself, though. He’s having a hard enough time as it is. 

Moving more swiftly than she thought him capable of, he grabs a lab coat and a pair of magnifying goggles from the storage locker and hands them to her, then retrieves a matching set for himself. "Quick, put these on."

She gives him a questioning look, but follows his instructions. When she’s finished she looks over at him and is overcome with a wave of nostalgia. It’s just her memory playing tricks on her, she knows, but the lab coat, combined with the cardigan he’s wearing and his clean-shaven face, somehow makes him look so much younger. So unassuming. Maybe that’s the point. His plan starts to become clearer. She can work with this. After years of using people's constant underestimation of her — due to her youth, her gender, her looks, her Englishness, or any combination of those — to her advantage, she’s had plenty of practice.

At the squeak of the door being forced open she turns around to find a tall, blue-skinned woman entering the lab. Two men follow — one burly and bald, with a nasty scar running down the side of his face, the other wiry, with grey skin and mismatched machine parts for limbs. All three of them carry large energy weapons of some sort that gave off a constant, low-level hum. With a wave of her hand, the woman signals her companions to take Fitz and Jemma captive. They flank them on either side, the larger one grabbing Fitz's upper left arm while the grey one takes her right. Fitz doesn’t struggle. The look on his face tells her not to struggle either.

With both of them restrained, the Kree woman takes the opportunity to walk around the lab, surveying the equipment. As she runs her fingers over the infusion chamber, Jemma winces. Fitz catches her eye and shakes his head, warning her not to give anything away. The woman reminds Jemma of Sinara, but rougher around the edges and less graceful in her movements. Whereas Sinara gave the impression of a sleek feline predator, this Kree is more wolf than cat. Her hair is short and shaggy, and she wears a floor-length leather duster in oxblood red over a matching buckled tunic and skin-tight pants. The other two are dressed similarly — some sort of gang uniform, Jemma guesses. It’s a different kind of intimidating.

Seemingly satisfied with her inspection, the woman returns to face Jemma and Fitz, arms crossed in front of her.

"I am Sarab. This is Lin and Benj." She tilts her head back and forth to indicate two henchmen on either side of them. Jemma's captor, the one called Lin, tightens his mechanical grip on her arm at the sound of his name. Jemma is about to introduce herself when the woman waves her off. "Your names do not matter. All that matters is the answer to one question: Whose ship is this?"

Fitz is busy examining his shoes, so Jemma takes the liberty of answering for both of them. "This is a S.H.I.E.L.D. vessel. We answer to the director."

"Wrong," she says. Then she turns to Fitz and poses the question again: "Whose ship is this?"

"Yours," he says in a trembling voice. Jemma's head whips around. The lab gear is more than just a costume. Fitz has completely transformed from the confident, self-assured double of her husband into the skittish, awkward boy he once was. If she didn't know better, she'd have said he was cowering. He puts his hands up in front of his face. "Okay? It's all yours."

"Smart boy," Sarab says. "Don't do anything stupid and you might get out of this alive."

"We surrender,” he continues. “Just please . . . don't hurt us."

Surrender? Since when did he give up so easily? Especially with something as important as Coulson’s life on the line? But he said to follow him, so that's what she’s going to do. She throws up her palms, mirroring Fitz's submissive pose.

"We don't want any trouble," she says. It sounds convincing enough.

"Good," Sarab replies. "Then we don't want the same thing."

Jemma puts her hands down and wrinkles her nose at the clumsy grammar. She can’t resist taking a _little_ piss. "Which would be what? Sorry. I'm just a bit confused by your phrasing."

"Trouble," Sarab answers, flustered at having to explain herself. She looks at her henchmen for confirmation. They shrug and nod deferentially, as if her meaning were obvious. "I thought that was clear. We both don't want trouble."

Jemma nods patronizingly. "Ah. I understand you're probably not a native English speaker but—" Fitz bumps his hip into hers. Hard. "You know what? Never mind. You are quite right. No trouble is exactly what we all don't want."

"Your friends on the bridge gave us trouble," she says, recovering some of her authority. "Do you want to know what happened to them?"

"What . . . what did you do to them?" the new-old version of Fitz asks. There are tears in his eyes. Actual tears, from the man who once tackled an exploding Inhuman without a second thought.

"Don't worry about your friends. They're just taking a little nap while we claim what is now our cargo. The gas will wear off in a few hours."

"We'll give you whatever you want. There's lots of useful tech on board. Weapons. Gadgets. We can show you how to use them."

"Oh, you will," Sarab says. "Or else when we knock you out, it won't be the gas we won't be knocking you out with."

She can sense Fitz fidgeting next to her, silently begging her to let the error slide without comment.

"There's no need for violence," he says. "We're just a couple of lab techs. We’re not even cleared for field work."

Technically, that’s true. Coulson somehow circumvented the whole process, and they never bothered to be reassessed, even when they'd both had enough practical experience to pass the test with flying colors. And once S.H.I.E.L.D. had retreated into the shadows, there was hardly any point to it.

"Got us a couple of real heroes here, boys," Sarab says to her companions. The three of them erupt in mocking laughter. She steps closer to Fitz and scrutinizes him closely, up and down. "Not a pair of balls between 'em."

Fitz squeezes his eyes shut, recoiling from Sarab's threatening proximity. The Kree woman enjoys his discomfort a little too much for Jemma's taste. Plan or no, If she lays one finger on him, Jemma can’t be held responsible for her actions. Fortunately, Sarab seems to come to a decision without further encroaching on Fitz's space. Jemma can feel herself letting out a breath.

"I'm going to finish exploring my ship now," she announces, grabbing onto the massive gun hanging from a strap around her shoulder. She flicks the barrel toward the alien cyborg at Jemma's side. Its humming grows higher in pitch. "Lin, with me. Benj, stay here and guard the weaklings."

Lin lets Jemma go and follows his leader to the door, metal pistons hissing.

"I just hope they stay away from the armory." Fitz says to Jemma under his breath, but loud enough to be sure they all hear.

Sarab pauses and turns on her heel. "What was that?"

He puts on a show of cursing at himself for slipping up. "Nothing," he says, shaking his head. "It's nothing."

"You said something about the armory?"

"Did I?" His voice has gone up an octave above its normal range. "Armory? No. I don't think . . . no. What I said was . . ."

Jemma quickly jumps in, waving her hand dismissively. "You don't want to go there. It's nothing very interesting."

"Thank you," Sarab says. "That will be our first stop."

Clever Fitz. Zephyr One doesn’t have an armory, but Sarab and her cyborg sidekick don't know that. And now they'll be wasting time looking for it.

As soon as they’re gone, Benj steps around to face Fitz and turns his gun on him. "Sit," he commands.

Fitz complies, taking a seat in a nearby stool and shoving his hands in the pockets of his cardigan. "Sure. Yeah. No problem."

Then Benj seizes Jemma roughly by the arm and tosses her in the same direction. "You too."

She sees something hot flash in Fitz's eyes for a second, but then it’s gone and he’s back to looking suitably harmless. She takes a seat next to him and his hand slips out of his pocket long enough to squeeze hers. It’s not merely a reassuring gesture, though. When he takes his hand away, Jemma feels something smooth and cylindrical in her palm.

She doesn’t dare look, but she has a pretty good idea of what it is. It feels like the vial containing the only existing dose of the cure. If the thieves take everything else, at least they'll have this crucial piece to base their continued work on. They won’t have to start from scratch. And he's given it to her to keep safe. Which means he’s planning on doing something decidedly unsafe.

That won’t do. She's already mourned one version of him, she’s not about to go through that again. She shoves the vial into her back pocket and shakes her head, a silent plea to give up whatever wild, dangerous idea he’s contemplating. 

He flicks his eyes to the ladder on the other side of the lab that leads to the upper deck. If they can get to it they might be able to reach the landing bay through an access tunnel and find the case of ICERs stored there. The ladder isn’t far — it’s not a big lab — but there is one rather large obstacle in between them and their escape route. They’ll need to distract him long enough for one of them to sneak out and get to the weapons. That might give them a chance.

Though he’s an oversized specimen, Benj appears to be human, unlike his companions. Which means, she hopes, that he might be susceptible to typical human weaknesses. 

Jemma puts on her sweetest voice and flutters her eyelashes. "So, Benj. Is that short for Benjamin, or is it Mr. Benj?"

She knows without looking that Fitz is rolling his eyes behind her.

"Just Benj," he mumbles, fidgeting a bit with his hands, which are no longer holding the gun. She detects a hint of softness in his answer. An opening.

"And what do you when you're not stealing from ships on rescue missions, Benj?"

"Oh, that weren't no rescue beacon," he explains proudly. As if she hadn't already figured it out. "It’s a fake. Drew you right to us."

"Well, aren't you a clever boy," she says, laughing and twirling her hair around her finger. Benj joins in, letting out a hearty guffaw.

"Certainly had us fooled," Fitz says, laughing along and looking plausibly impressed.

Benj gives Fitz a dismissive look, as if he’s interrupting something, then turns back to Jemma with an expression of interest. She senses Fitz tensing next to her in much the same way she did when Sarab was looking him over. Ignoring it, she and focuses all of her attention on their captor, smiling shyly and tilting her head just so.

"And is there a Mrs. Benj?"

He looks pleased at the question, dropping the tough-guy act for a moment. But only for a moment. "Uh. Nope. Sure isn’t."

"Well, that's a shame," she says, putting on a pout. "So many lonely nights out in space. All that loot and no one to share it with."

Her fingers lightly brush back and forth on the countertop in a swirling pattern. His eyes follow them, entranced. Seeing an opportunity, Fitz starts to slide off the stool and moves slowly toward the ladder. But he’s not slow enough.

Benj's hands go back to his gun. His eyes remained fixed on Jemma’s fingers, though he’s clearly addressing Fitz when he speaks. "Hold on there, Einstein. You stay put."

Fitz puts up his hands and moves back to the stool.

"Oh, you’re familiar with Einstein," Fitz says. "You must be from Earth."

"What of it?" Benj grumps.

"Then you must know about Einstein's studies of the photoelectric effect?"

Benj turns away with a low, gutteral sound, clearly disinterested. Fitz carries on as if he’s been asked for a detailed explanation. “Well, it’s quite fascinating, really. Most people are familiar with his theory of relativity, but his first major breakthrough was the idea that light is made up of particles, rather than a wave.”

The theory isn't the point; it’s a signal. They worked out a system of code words years ago in case another hostage situation came up (it does seem to happen to them a lot). Referring to the Einstein and the photoelectric effect means flash grenade. At one point she sees Fitz motion to his back pocket and Jemma suddenly realizes that the cylinder he handed her earlier wasn't a vial at all. She tucks her hand into her own pocket and feels for the trigger. Sure enough, he's handed her the key to their escape.

"Enough with the science talk, Fitz,” Jemma says, eyeing him knowingly. “I'm sure our guest has other interests. Isn't that right, Benj?"

He’s more cautious after catching Fitz out, but still gives her his attention.

"How about hunting? That's . . . a sport." She really hopes Fitz knows where she’s going with this.

"Sure. Used to go with my old man when I was a kid."

"Sounds lovely. And what kind of animals did you hunt? Deer? Or perhaps was it . . . " she pauses to give Fitz ample opportunity to prepare for her cue, ". . . duck?"

Catching on, Fitz wraps his arm around his head, covering his eyes, and drops to the floor. She does the same, then presses the trigger. A blinding flash lights up the room. Benj, taken by surprise, collapses forward, knocking his head on the worktable. The blow knocks him out and it appears he’s down for the count.

One down. Two to go.

Fitz secures the unconscious gangster to the bottom rung of the ladder with a sturdy bit of cable and searches his pockets and tactical belt. He finds a small rectangular hunk of metal that flips up to reveal a control panel and a screen. 

“We should be able to monitor their movements with this,” he says, tucking the communication device into his waistband. He sifts through the rest of the confiscated alien tech, marveling at the innovative designs and already coming up with improvements he could make. She can’t remember the last time she saw that look of curious fascination on his face. Once again, she feels a pang of sorrow for the boy she once knew and still loves with all her heart.

But maybe that boy isn't completely gone. The evidence is right there in front of her. It’s confusing. Putting on this awkward, easily intimidated scientist persona instead of the ruthless marauder is his way of distinguishing the man he is from the man he would have become, but it’s not all a pretense. This is the core of who Fitz is, who he might still be if she hadn’t dragged him out of the lab to see the world. He must be as tired of the world now as she is. He seems intent on using his brain to get them out of this rather than violence. It’s a deliberate choice, and she understands why he’s making it. She considers, not for the first time, telling him that she knows about the voice in his head. For now it seems like he’s doing a fair job of ignoring it on his own, but that conversation is overdue. One among many.

While he’s examining the new toys, she gathers up as many of the cure components as she can into a storage bin and downloads the data onto a thumb drive. The transfusion chamber is too large to move, but that works in their favor, as the Ravagers will likely be looking for small valuables and items they can easily fence.

“These are the most crucial bits,” she tells Fitz, holding up the bin. “Can we hide it somewhere safe?”

He thinks for a moment. “There's a service panel just outside the lab that's hard to see unless you know what you're looking for. We can stash it there.”

By now, Sarab and Lin have likely figured out that their search for the armory is a snark hunt and will be none too pleased. As soon as they find their downed comrade they're going to know the helpless lab techs ruse was just that. They'll soon lose the element of surprise, but they still have the home field advantage and no one knows the Zephyr better than FItz.

"We should go for the ICERs while we have the chance,” he says, once they’ve finished stowing their research.

“Wait. If we can figure out what kind of gas they used on the bridge, maybe I can synthesize an antidote. Wake our people up.”

“I’d certainly like those odds better.”

“Oh, I don’t know. It’s two on two. And we’re smarter.” His whole face softens at her words and he kisses her as if he can’t help himself. But she has to break it off when a thought strikes her. “Oh! We could use Sneezy to analyze the gas.”

“No, we haven’t used the D.W.A.R.F.s in years. The old software isn’t compatible with the new system and—”

He stops as soon as he sees the look on her face.

“What?” he says warily. She smiles, but her guilt is plainly tucked into the crinkles around her eyes. “Ah. Should I ask what you used them for? Or is that another thing you don’t want to tell me?”

It’s the closest he’s ever come to asking about what happened while he was frozen. She thought he would want to know everything as soon as he woke up, and she’d prepared herself to tell him. When he didn’t, she was relieved. So they just kept on as always, in uniform direction and speed. But it was foolish of her to expect they could go on forever like that. And now, here it is: the outside force.

He wants to know now, and far be it for her to keep it from him. So she tells him what happens when three monoliths are blown up together. She explains about the fear dimension and what Coulson was willing to do to close the rift. 

“We lost Happy,” she says with the remorse one might feel after the death of a beloved pet. “Destroyed by Lash, if you can believe it. Or a manifestation of him. But Sneezy’s still in working order.”

He nods, sharing her sorrow because Happy was his pet too. She knows the next question is coming before he asks it, but that doesn’t make it any easier to answer. “You eventually closed the rift though, yeah? I mean you must have.”

“We did,” she says, unable to look him in the eyes. She buries her face in the storage closet where the D.W.A.R.F. case resides and boots up the tablet that controls them. She’s flashing every warning signal, and he can read them better than anyone, but he presses on anyway.

“How?” When she ignores the question under the pretense of being distracted by the drones, he asks again. “ _How_ Jemma?”

She’s saved by a burst of static coming from the communicator on his belt, followed by a female voice. “Benj, report."

Jemma finally looks at Fitz, hoping he’ll have an idea of what to do, but he seems to be hoping for the same thing from her. With a shrug as if to say “here goes nothing” he picks up the communicator and taps the button a few times, grunting through the white noise it creates.

“All . . . fine . . . here," he says in a decent approximation of Benj's deep, southern drawl.

She gives him a thumbs up.

"You're breaking up,” says the voice on the other end. “Doesn’t matter. Looks like those two led us astray. Shoot one and the other should fall in line.”

Fitz sends back a garbled reply. "Co— that."

The device goes silent again.

"That didn't go too badly," he says.

"Other than the order to shoot one of us. But well done, you.” 

He beams at the praise and she can’t help but find it adorable. She should compliment him more often. Even after all these years, he soaks it up like the desert when it rains.

“There's no telling when they’ll be back,” he says, returning to the business at hand. “You get to the bridge and get Sneezy up and running while I go for the ICERs.”

“No!” The word comes flying out of her mouth before she has a chance to stop it. He doesn’t know about their rule. It was a reasonable impulse at the time, but impossible to stick to and it didn’t solve anything in the end. Anyway, she’s already decided not to hold this Fitz to the promises made by another man. “I mean, we can’t leave the lab unprotected.”

“Then I’ll set up a tripwire,” he suggests matter-of-factly.

She remembers the solution the other Fitz had for dealing with the Kree when they were on the run at the Lighthouse in the future. The memory makes her feel queasy, though she doesn’t know if it’s the image of the Kree’s heads being sliced in two or the fact that he was the one who came up with it. Maybe both. Either way, she can’t let it happen again. “Fitz. We’re not killers.”

“Who said anything about killing?” he says defensively and she wishes she could stop thinking the worst of him. She really does. “I was talking about an electrical wire. It’ll deliver a shock, but not a deadly one.”

“Oh. That’s good, then,” she concedes.

“Did you think I could do that?”

“I know you could,” she says darkly.

“Oh, for god’s sake. How many times--” He squeezes his fist, extinguishing the fuse of his temper before he loses control of it. “Forget it. We don’t have time. I’ll just get the ICERs and stop them before they get this far.” 

“Well, if you’re going to go, take some sort of protection with you.”

She nods toward the energy gun he removed from Benj earlier. He kneels down and picks it up cautiously. The weapon doesn’t look quite right in his hands, like the scale is off somehow. He makes a quick calculation in his head, then hands it to her.

“Here. You take it. I’ll be fine. I know how to get around the ship undetected.”

She pushes it back gently towards him. “No, Fitz. You have to arm yourself. I can’t . . .” 

She trails off, choking on the last two words, but they both know how that sentence was going to end. She sees the same tears in his eyes that are currently stinging hers. He puts his hand on the back of her head and softly presses his lips to her forehead. She’s not quite sure how he manages it, but when he pulls away she’s the one holding the gun.

“I can’t either,” he says, his voice a razor’s edge that cuts her heart to pieces. “Please.”

She knows he’s not going to let this go, so she silently agrees. He breathes a visible sigh of relief. She smiles and wraps her arms around his neck. It’s awkward with the gun between them. “Good luck,” she whispers, though neither of them believe in that sort of thing, and punctuates the sentiment with a kiss on the cheek. 

“You too.” He squeezes her hand and holds it as long as possible while walking away.

“Oh, wait. Here.” She reaches into a drawer and pulls out two small metal objects about the size of AA batteries. Catching up to him, she slips them into the pockets of his lab coat, one in the left and one in the right. “Just in case.”

He nods, then takes the ladder to the next deck. She can’t help but enjoy the rather lovely view he presents as he climbs. It’s not the most appropriate thought considering the circumstances, but she has to distract herself somehow or she’ll never get through this. She’ll follow soon enough, when Sneezy is ready to deploy.

The bridge is littered with the bodies of their sleeping friends and colleagues. There is no sign of Sarab and Lin, for which she should be grateful, but that just means they’re wandering around somewhere else and could run into Fitz at any moment. She’d rather have them in her sights.

The results Sneezy sends back to the tablet bring the first bit of good news since they heard about the fake distress signal. He’s detecting methyl propyl ether, which happens to be the same gas they had in storage at the Playground. She already has an antidote on hand. Only a few doses, but enough for Mack, Daisy, and Yo-Yo at least. 

Once the team is back in action, the two rogue aliens don’t stand a chance. Of that she is certain. What’s less certain is how Fitz will handle the truth when he finally hears the whole of it. Because she’s done keeping things from him. As soon as they get out of this mess they’re going to have a very long talk. And if she’s being honest, that scares her more than an entire fleet of Ravagers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who else misses science cutie Fitz? Sigh.


	3. Unless Acted Upon by an Outside Force

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's wrap up this attempted space heist with a little more action AND a little more conversation. Turns out, you can have both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to thank my stellar beta LibbyWeasley, who is just as good at finding typos as she is at asking all the right questions to make everything that much better. I promise I am not trying to kill her with the feels, no matter what she says.

Fitz makes it to the landing bay without incident, but the regret he’s felt since the moment he left her in the lab has built up to the point where he has to force himself to put one foot in front of the other or he’ll just flee back to her side without accomplishing anything. This co-dependence cannot be healthy, but it’s not like he has a choice. He’s never had a choice where Jemma was concerned. The only thing that keeps him pressing on is the hope that once he gets to the weapons they’ll have a better chance of taking the Zephyr back and she’ll be safe again, along with the cure.

The image of Jemma flirting with that brute Benj suddenly flashes in his mind and he feels a strange mixture of revulsion and pride. She’s better at deception than she gives herself credit for — not the kind that involves telling lies, but the kind that exaggerates certain truths and half-truths. Whether she realizes it consciously or not, she's been pulling that "I'm just a girl" act for years, but beneath that sweet and proper exterior she has a mind as quick as lightning and a heart full of thunder. He has never been fooled himself, though it seemed to work on other people. All she had to do was lean into it. And she had. Brilliantly.

His heart sinks, though, when he sees the landing bay. It’s nearly empty. The cases of ICERs and other S.H.I.E.L.D. tech they’d been storing after the last mission are gone. 

“Looking for these?” Sarab’s voice echoes across the bay. She’s holding two ICERs in her hands and pointing them in his direction. Lin stands behind her with the open case. “Wonder what they do. Let’s find out.”

She points both barrels at him and squeezes the triggers. Nothing happens. He doesn’t even bother to raise his hands in surrender. He knows he isn’t in danger — the guns only work for those authorized to use them.

“Pieces of junk,” she says, tossing them aside. “Good thing we brought these.” 

She aims her energy gun at him and waves one hand behind her. Lin drops the case and holds his gun up as well. Fitz’s hands go up this time. This is good. If they’re here then it means Jemma is safe.

“I am curious, though. How did you escape Benj? And where’s your little companion? Got a mouth on her, that one, but I liked her. I was hoping it would be her he didn’t shoot.”

Fitz scrunches up his face in a look of disgust and lowers his hands. There’s no point in keeping up the harmless scientist routine anymore, but he doesn’t want to be perceived as a threat. He settles for a middle ground, friendly and sympathetic. “He didn’t shoot either of us. They’re in the lab together right now. I had to get out of there. Just needed some space.” He gives her an exaggerated eye roll. 

To his surprise, Sarab nods in understanding and lets go of her gun. Lin keeps his right where it is. “Ah, yes. Benj is easily distracted. And she is quite a lovely specimen.”

He knows she’s just trying to rile him up, but his temper rises to the bait anyway. He tightens his hands into fists, fingertips and knuckles going white. He won’t give her the satisfaction. Once he’s calmed himself down enough to keep his breathing and voice steady he says, "They were getting a little too friendly for my taste."

She gives him a wry smile. "Jealous are we?"

It’s close enough to the truth, so he goes with it. "Yeah, actually. That's exactly what I am. Sarab, have you ever been in love?"

"Oh, many times.” She circles one hand in the air as she says it, without a hint of wistfulness or nostalgia. It’s as if he’d asked her if she’d ever taken someone hostage.

"Then you can understand. How would you feel if the person you loved more than anything in the universe was in love with someone else?"

"Such a situation could never happen to me personally, but it sounds quite tragic.” She’s mocking him now, but it doesn’t matter. It feels good to get it off his chest, actually.

“Oh, it is. And you know what’s even more tragic? When that other person is, in fact, yourself.”

He loses her with this last bit. "Huh?"

“Never mind. You're a good listener, Sarab.”

She steps closer to him. It strikes him for the first time just how tall she is. His head barely comes up to her shoulder. “Enough blathering. You said you’d show us how your tech works. Why don’t you start now? With these.”

With a sweeping gesture she indicates the open case of ICERs on the floor behind her. Even if he had the capability to calibrate them here — which he doesn’t — he would never simply hand over their technology to a gang of thieves. Of course, they don’t know that.

He still has the little metal objects Jemma put in his pockets. He might be able to use them to take one of them down, but then the other would probably start shooting before the first one hit the floor. Better to wait, then. In the meantime, pretending to fix the ICERs could buy him some time.

“I can try,” he says, walking over to the case and squatting down. “Ah. See this bit here? The isolated flux capacitor? It just needs to be coupled to the dilithium crystals with a sonic screwdriver and Bob’s your uncle.”

While their attention is drawn to the places he’s pointing, he takes the two small cylinders out of his pockets and tucks them into the case. 

Sarab nods her head sagely, as if she understands exactly what he’s talking about. “I do not wish to acquire an uncle, but I do want some guns that shoot. So get to it. Lin, make sure he doesn't stray from his task. I’m going to transfer some more of this cargo.”

 _That’s right_ , he thinks, _split up_. It makes it so much easier to pick them off one at a time. He was right to question his own decision to do the same thing earlier. Maybe he and Jemma should have a rule.

As soon as Sarab is gone, Fitz calls Lin over. “Long as you’re standing there, I could use some help.” The alien cyborg comes closer, but doesn’t speak. 

“Could you hold this please.” Lin looks down at the small object Fitz is holding out in his palm. “Go on, take it. I’ve only got two hands.”

The fingers of Lin’s metal hand extend, opening up his hand to accept the device. Fitz drops it in, then fishes the other one from the case. “Ah, there we go. This one too, please.”

As soon as the second one touches the first they let out an electric shock that floods the cyborg’s system. He falls to the ground, twitching, sparks flying. It suddenly occurs to Fitz that he doesn’t know whether Lin will survive the effects of the pulse. It wouldn’t be deadly to a normal human, but it’s impossible to determine which of his systems are controlled by his cyborg parts. Shutting them down might have killed him. It’s something he should have considered, something he _would_ have considered, back when he was actually the person he’s only pretending to be now.

“What have you done?” Sarab has returned from their ship just in time to see her companion writhing on the floor, then freeze. Her voice is shrill and sharp-edged and she bends over his immobile body. “You’re going to pay for that, filthy human.”

She stands up and points her gun at him. He can hear the steady whine increase in pitch as the energy inside it amplifies. Here it is at last. The final punishment for all of his sins. He deserves it. His last thoughts are of Jemma and how she’ll have to mourn him all over again, but maybe in time she’ll realize it was for the best. As he squeezes his eyes shut, ready to accept his fate, there’s a sound on the other side of the bay, and then a voice he knows like the sound of his own beating heart.

“On the contrary, he’s usually quite hygienic.” Jemma stands firm behind Sarab, holding Benj’s weapon like she was born with it in her hands. “Now I’ll thank you to get the hell away from my husband.”

She looks like an avenging angel, and he feels a familiar, overwhelming sense of gratitude that he has the incredible fortune to know and love this woman. Sarab turns around toward the source of the threat and he breaks out of his stupor in time to seize his moment. In one swift move he pulls an ICER from the case and shoots, hitting Sarab square in the chest. She collapses onto the deck, safely subdued.

It’s not until that moment — when it’s finally over and they can breathe again — that Jemma’s words sink in. Well, one word in particular. He stands there with his jaw open, unable to recover his composure for a few seconds, not trusting himself to speak. He expected an engagement, not an actual wedding. When would they have had time? It can't have been anything special, considering they were on the run with limited resources. And once again he has more questions than answers.

He feels a sudden breeze and catches a blur out of the corner of his eye that he recognizes by now is the telltale sign of Yo-Yo in motion. The next thing he knows, Sarab's hands are tied behind her back. Yo-Yo strolls back at normal speed to admire her work, followed by Daisy and Mack.

“Nice work, Turbo.” Mack says. 

“You didn’t actually need us at all,” Daisy adds, clapping Jemma on the back.

“What do we do with these two?” Yo-Yo asks, pointing a metal index finger toward the two bodies littering the deck.

“Take them all back to their ship and disable the beacon,” Jemma says. 

“We have to make sure they can’t follow us,” Mack cautions.

“I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” Fitz says. 

They haven’t discussed it, but Jemma seems to have come to the same conclusion he has. “They didn’t chase after us or overtake us. And Benj said the fake signal—”

Fitz breaks in to finish the thought. “Drew us right to them. Exactly.”

“So they wanted us to come to them. You've seen their ship; it's not that big. It must have—

“A limited range,” Fitz concludes. They smile at each other, then turn to the rest of the team, who are so used to their ping-pong act by now, they have no trouble following along. 

"So if we just took off, they might not be able to follow us?” Mack says. 

“At least, not very far," Fitz says.

"It's just a hunch," Jemma adds, shrugging her shoulders. 

Fitz takes her hand and squeezes it. "I'll take your hunches over someone else's hard facts any day of the week.”

They barely speak as they go about the work of transporting the three Ravagers to their ship and bringing the stolen cargo back to the Zephyr. Fitz can feel Jemma holding back. He’s holding back too. There are so many questions he wants to ask. He’s not afraid of the answers anymore. Whatever happened, they’ll deal with it together. Just like they always do.

Once the ship is secured and they’re underway again, they retrieve the hidden components of the cure and attempt to pick up where they left off. Though they’re now alone with ample opportunity to talk, he doesn’t know where to start. Apparently, neither does she. When the weight of their silence finally becomes so punishing he feels like they might both collapse underneath it, he picks the first thing off the top of his head and dives in.

"So . . . you married him." It’s not a question, and as conversation starters go, it’s not the best. But it’s all he can think of at the moment. 

She sets down the flask she was measuring liquid into and turns to him, resigned. "I married you, Fitz."

He shakes his head. "No. I didn't get to say ‘I do.’ I haven’t even proposed yet, for god’s sake."

"He didn’t say ‘I do’ either. We sort of skipped that part. And I was the one who proposed.”

"What kind of ceremony was this anyway?"

"A brief one. We were kind of in an underground forest that could have collapsed on us at any moment."

"That . . . does not sound ideal."

She shrugs. "So we'll do it again."

He huffs out a breath, trying desperately not to take his exasperation out on her. None of this is her fault. It’s the bloody cosmos again. But she still doesn’t understand.

"You still don't get it. For me there is no _again_. For me it will be the first time. But it won't for you."

When they were still cadets at the Academy they had a standing Saturday-night appointment (he was afraid to call it a date back then) to watch the new episodes of _Doctor Who_ in his dorm room. Once, when he'd had to finish a weekend project for a class, he had to miss it. So she'd watched the episode without him. When they finally got around to watching it together on Monday night, it just didn’t feel the same. This was kind of like that, only so much worse, because you only get one first wedding.

“I know. I know it’s hard for you.” She puts her hand on his chest. He can see tears starting to moisten her lashes. “But there’s something you need to understand, too. I buried you, Fitz. I _mourned you_. I didn’t know if I’d ever get you back. So I will try and remember that you're a different person if you'll try and remember that I lost you in a very literal sense. It’s only because of an anomaly in the space-time continuum that you’re standing here right now. So the wedding isn’t important to me, or anything else your other self did. It’s what happens now, what comes after. If you want to marry me, we can do that. If you don’t, that’s fine too. Either way, I still want to be with you. Always.”

The tears are really falling now, leaving wet trails down her cheeks. He feels his own spilling over to make trails of their own. It’s all he wants, really. To be with her every day for the rest of his life. To be worthy of her.

He takes her hand and threads their fingers together. “Jemma,” he whispers. The next part is hard, but it has to be done. “Tell me what I missed. Tell me everything.”

So she does.

Not all of it makes sense. There are parts that make his heart soar and parts that leave him shaking with anger and regret. He wants to think he would do some things differently, but he knows better than that. The voice of the Doctor inside his head tells him as much. He has to make amends somehow, to his friends and teammates, to clean up his own messes, even if he’s not the one who made them. 

Jemma cups his cheek, quelling the storm of emotions inside him. His world shrinks down to the reflection of the light in her eyes. “I know you’re fighting something dark inside you. But as much as you want to deny it or hide from it, it’s still a part of you.”

His voice is soft, barely above a whisper. “What am I supposed to do with it then?”

“Confront it. Accept it. But you can't do that if you continue to pretend it doesn't exist. Today I was reminded that you are still the boy from the Academy who I fell in love with. But you are also the marauder who saved us in the future. And you are also the Doctor.”

“No!” He steps away and shakes his head vigorously, rejecting the notion outright. “No, I decide who I am. Who I want to be. And who I _don't_.”

“Yes. You do. You decide. Your heart is good and strong and I believe you can overcome the darkness. But not unless you acknowledge it.”

“I should talk to Daisy,” he says with a deep sigh. “I don’t deserve forgiveness, but she deserves an apology. If she’ll even accept one from me.”

“I should apologize too. I didn't recognize your trauma before for what it was, and I should have been there for her after it happened.”

He gives her a pointed look. “Jemma. By all means, talk to her. But you can’t be there for everyone else while ignoring your own pain. I'm not the only one who hasn't dealt everything that's happened since the Framework. I sleep next to you every night. You think I don't know how often you have nightmares? You don't think I know how often I'm the cause of them?”

“Sometimes I really miss Dr. Garner,” she says, wiping at her cheeks with slender knuckles and examining the moisture they collect. “He was good at dealing with unusual circumstances. Our problems aren't easy for civilians to understand.”

“No, they aren't. But I think we need to find someone who is willing to try.”

“Agreed. And while we're on the subject, there's something I've been meaning to bring up.”

She has that look he knows well enough to be cautious about the impact of her next words. “What is it?”

She takes a breath. “Once we know Coulson is going to be okay, we might want to think about a trial separation.”

“Jemma, I—”

The terror he feels at even a hint of that suggestion must be written all over his face. Her hand reaches out for his in a flash, and she strokes his palm gently with her thumb. "No no, not from each other. From S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“But we’ve been a part of S.H.I.E.L.D. in one way or another since we were sixteen. That’s our entire adult life. Do you think we could do anything else?”

"Why not? After everything we've been through, we deserve some peace. I've been considering this whole curse theory of yours.” She cuts him off with one finger before he has a chance to protest. “What if it’s not the cosmos that's cursed us? What if it's S.H.I.E.L.D.? Think about it. None of the terrible things that have happened to us would have happened if we hadn't joined up."

He ponders this, finding one massive flaw in her logic. "But then we might never have met."

The very idea makes him shudder. A life without Jemma Simmons by his side sounds unfathomably lonely. He doesn’t want to think about who he would have become if she hadn’t befriended him all those years ago. The glimpse he got in the Framework was more than enough.

"Oh, I don't know,” she says. “Two minds like ours, I’d like to think we would have come into each other's orbit at some point."

"You'd really leave all this behind?" He gestures to their cozy mobile lab, full of the fruits of their partnership.

She reaches out and takes his hand. "I'd be bringing the most important thing with me."

Fitz gasps in mock offense. "Simmons, I'll have you know that I am a person, not an object you can just toss into your handbag."

But that's not entirely true. In a way, she does possess him. He is hers, body and soul, and wherever she goes, he'll go too.

She chuckles at his joke, but it takes effort and doesn't last. “I’m tired, Fitz. So tired. I just want some quiet time to be together. Just us."

He can see the truth of her words in her eyes and the slope of her shoulders. She's exhausted. And who could blame her after everything she's been through? If she needs to leave S.H.I.E.L.D. to be happy, how can he deny her? There's a part of him that needs that too. At least, for a little while.

"Okay." Once the word is out of his mouth he knows it's the right decision. "As soon as we get Coulson sorted we'll hand in our notice."

"We don't have to quit entirely. We could just take a sabbatical. Settle down in a cottage in the country with room for a lab. And maybe room for other things?"

The hopeful look on her face is almost more than he can handle. He feels a stinging in his eyes and a dryness in his throat. He's dreamed of a life like that for longer than he cares to admit. He just never thought he'd get it. Someday he hopes to deserve it.

The next words are out of his mouth before he can even properly process the impulse. “Jemma Simmons, will you marry me?”

She answers without hesitation. “Yes, Leopold Fitz, I would love to marry you.”

He captures her lips with his in a celebratory kiss. Her enthusiastic response matches the passion and affection in her words. She hums in pleasure and the vibrations against his lips add another layer of delicious sensation to their embrace. He opens wider, letting her explore deeper as the kiss begins to morph from an expression of shared joy to one of shared desire. Her arms wrap around his neck while his find her waist, tugging her closer. He wants nothing more in this moment than to let himself get carried away, to get lost in the perfection of her mouth moving in concert with his, but there are other pressing matters to attend to. 

With every ounce of self control he has, he pulls back. “Jemma.” She looks up at him with dazed eyes and pink, swollen lips. He’s unable to resist going in for one more quick kiss before recovering his senses. “We should probably work on finishing the cure.”

“Right,” she says, sounding as regretful as he feels. She takes a steadying breath. “Where did we leave off?”

It's a good thing the cure looks promising, because he’s going to need Coulson around to perform the ceremony again. No way is he missing out on that experience. It’s one he’s sure Coulson wouldn’t mind repeating. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he understands that it’s one of the reasons he’s been working so hard on the cure all of these months. Getting married without Coulson there wouldn’t feel right.

There are a few more things he knows for certain now, but the old ones still hold true.

He knows that he died.

He knows that Phil Coulson will live.

He knows without a shred of doubt that he loves Jemma Simmons, and that nothing — not secrets or time or space or even death itself — can ever keep them apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? Characters acknowledging trauma and seeking therapy? That's how you know this is a canon-divergent AU. 
> 
> For those who haven't guessed already, the OC's names were inspired by current Broadway composers. What do they have to do with space pirates? Nothing whatsoever! It just amused me.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! Feel free to hit me up any time on tumblr, where I'm @blancasplayground.

**Author's Note:**

> In case you were wondering, no, this is not going to be a _Guardians of the Galaxy_ crossover. I just needed a group of space pirates and there happened to be a perfectly good one just sitting there already in the MCU.
> 
> Thanks for reading! I don't have a set posting schedule, since it's just three chapters, but my goal is to have it complete by the start of November. Feel free to hit me up anytime on tumblr @blancasplayground.


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